


Suspension of Disbelief

by Sath



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Prosthesis, fun in a hunting lodge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Maedhros laid his prosthetic right hand on the table to move a potentially scandalous invective poem by Curufin out of sight, Fingon’s whole attention shifted to the metalwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suspension of Disbelief

Fingon had arrived with a complement of attendants carrying banners emblazoned with the crest of the House of Fingolfin. It was not the most tactful way to visit Celegorm’s hunting lodge, but he had only been grudgingly invited. Maedhros and Fingon struggled through an appropriately warm yet restrained greeting, as Maedhros apologized for Celegorm’s absence and Fingon pretended he had the faintest care for whether Celegorm were there or in the Bay of Balar. Then there was the exchange of news, and the passing of letters between those few of their relatives who were not estranged. Only after dinner was it polite for Maedhros to feign weariness, and request that the rest of their business be discussed in his guest chamber.

When Maedhros laid his prosthetic right hand on the table to move a potentially scandalous invective poem by Curufin out of sight, Fingon’s whole attention shifted to the metalwork.

“When I saw that Celegorm had written the invitation himself, I feared he actually wanted to see me,” Fingon said.  

“He can always stand to be reminded that I am the eldest,” Maedhros said. “And you still came, at great personal risk of being bored by hunting stories.”

“Yes; do you think he will storm in and tell us of how he slew that pair of antlers on the wall? Or wrestled that bearskin to death, while his dog looked on and sang a ballad?”

Maedhros tried to conceal a smile out of habit, before remembering that they were alone. “His decorations are not to my taste.”

“How much longer do you plan to suffer them before returning to icy Himring? Although I do not object to being spared the climb.”

“Until Celebrimbor has finished his work on my hand,” Maedhros replied.

“May I see? When I saw you last, it looked nowhere near so fine.”

Celebrimbor’s first models had appeared almost exactly like what Maedhros had lost, but then he began to articulate the fingers to move with Maedhros’s shoulder, and when his indulgent uncle had not stopped him, carved ornamentation into the steel before plating everything with gold. Maedhros had long been ready to leave, glad enough to have regained some movement. But Celebrimbor wanted to do better, so Maedhros allowed the delay.

Maedhros extended his right arm, allowing Fingon to cradle the hard steel with both hands. Fingon pressed his fingers against the false cleft of Maedhros’s palm, lightly moving them upwards until their fingertips met. Maedhros made his fingers tense, surprising Fingon enough to pull back his hand with a start. Laughing, Fingon reached for Maedhros again, this time by the wrist.

“Where is the mechanism hiding? Is it springs?” Fingon asked.

“Look for it.”

While Fingon pulled up Maedhros’s shirtsleeve, feeling past the leather cuff to touch one of the straps, Maedhros leaned forward to kiss Fingon’s forehead; he would not let Fingon forget their difference in height, though Fingon always had the advantage in other ways. Fingon responded with a teasing brush of his lips over Maedhros’s jawline, before unbuckling the belt around Maedhros's waist.

Maedhros obediently raised his arms to be stripped. “Giving up so quickly?”

“A feint,” Fingon replied, tossing the shirt onto a boar’s skull. “And now you have exposed your flank.”

Fingon pushed him towards the bed without any resistance, eagerly kissing Maedhros’s mouth even as he had to go up on the balls of his feet. Maedhros lay back on the mattress while Fingon hastily disrobed, heedless of Maedhros’s eyes on him in his rush to return to his side. After he was naked and straddling Maedhros’s groin, Fingon gained some measure of patience, although Maedhros lost his. Fingon’s hardness was fully exposed, his prick pressing against Maedhros’s own as he bent over to investigate the prosthetic.

“Now I see where the magic was worked,” he said, tracing the leather harness which stretched over Maedhros’s shoulders, and drumming his fingers against the cable running along his arm. “Do you still have any pain?”

“Not as I used to.” Long after Maedhros had learned only to use his left hand, the pain in his right would return, like having his bones slowly twisted.

“So now there is no feeling at all,” Fingon replied, sitting back to torment Maedhros with the weight of his bared backside against Maedhros’s still-clothed erection. Bringing Maedhros’s false hand to his lips, Fingon kissed it.

Except Maedhros felt something, a tingle where flesh should have been. He gasped, and Fingon’s eyes widened. Fingon flicked his tongue against the metal, triggering Maedhros’s sense memory in full force. Maedhros grasped Fingon’s waist with his free hand, needing to anchor himself to what was really there. Wickedly, Fingon dragged his tongue along one of Maedhros’s fingers, and he nearly shivered from the shock of it.

“I shouldn’t feel this,” Maedhros said.

“Would you like me to stop?”

Maedhros shook his head. They had been innocent of each other while Maedhros was still whole; he had never felt Fingon’s lips against the knuckles of his right hand, as he did now, nor felt the ghost of warmth from Fingon’s cheek. With permission given, Fingon went further, his teeth scraping over the tip of Maedhros’s index finger before he took the rest into his mouth. The sensation traveled all the way down Maedhros’s arm. He groaned and gripped Fingon’s hip tighter, guiding him into a riding movement Fingon was only too willing to continue. Maedhros knew his mind was tricking him, that something about the novelty of having a hand he could move, however badly, had put this fit into him, and that it would certainly soon pass.

Knowing exactly how lewd he looked, Fingon hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked. Maedhros felt everything—the heat and pressure of the smooth muscle of Fingon’s tongue curled around him, even the wetness of his saliva. Mesmerized, Maedhros struggled to separate the dormant metal he saw from what he experienced. The illusory sensations were greater than real ones; the pleasure from thrusting between Fingon’s thighs was less than the maddening feeling of having something dead return. He wanted to be done with all of the disorientation, end Fingon’s teasing and pull him into a proper embrace. But that was an old greediness, Maedhros thought, forcing his gaze downwards to see the crescent marks his nails had left on Fingon's skin.

When Maedhros withdrew his right hand, the loss of Fingon’s mouth led to a stark nothingness. He traced his fingers down Fingon’s chin, the metal insensate to the faint pulse in his neck, and the delicate hollow of his throat. The frustration must have shown, for Fingon apologetically took Maedhros by the wrist again, dragging his palm over the back of Maedhros’s hand and entwining their fingers. _That_ Maedhros could feel, the difference lying between touching and being touched.

“Only you could look so somber,” Fingon said, using his free hand to reach into Maedhros’s breeches and squeeze, “while doing this.”

Maedhros did not have the chance to dare Fingon to distract him better, because Fingon returned to using his tongue. Fingon licked a line from what should have been the heel of Maedhros’s palm to the tip of his middle finger while stroking him, the twin sensations enough to drive the last of the questions from his mind. As Fingon kissed and sucked the prosthetic as if it really were a part of Maedhros, he could no longer keep himself quiet. He hoped the pleading noises in his throat would not be heard down the hall. Maedhros let go of Fingon’s hip, afraid he would do him harm, and clutched at the sheet instead as he came.

Fingon leaned back with an air of satisfaction while Maedhros caught his breath.

“Am I less somber now?” Maedhros asked.

“Much,” Fingon replied, shifting his legs out of the way so Maedhros could finally wriggle out of his breeches and use them to clean himself off.

Fingon tugged him into a distracting kiss, saving Maedhros from his tendency to rush through every reunion. They never had enough time, it was true, but some things should not be too hurried. Wrapping his arm around Fingon’s waist, Maedhros moved him onto his back. As he watched Fingon stretched out on the mattress, his dark hair spread beneath him, one plait resting against his collarbone, Maedhros fought with his sudden possessiveness; he knew where it came from. Smiling, Fingon reached up to caress Maedhros’s face, then tucked some of his hair behind his ear. Maedhros lowered his head, lightly nipping at Fingon’s skin as he made his way downwards. Fingon tensed and let out a breath at every point of contact, his body much more receptive to pleasure than Maedhros’s.

Placing his right hand on Fingon’s pelvis, he used his left to guide Fingon’s cock into his mouth. Fingon gasped and tangled his fingers in Maedhros’s hair as Maedhros took him deep in his throat. After ignoring his own arousal for so long, Fingon already seemed far gone, panting and bucking his hips.

“If anyone else knew how good you were at this,” Fingon said, pulling harder at Maedhros’s hair, “I would kill him.”

His confession went to the heart of Maedhros’s jealousy, urging him on while the words settled at the base of his prick. Fingon told him more: that Maedhros was beautiful, that he hated being parted, that he could never marry when he prized Maedhros above any legacy. He praised Maedhros until the moment he spilled, stifling his cries by biting down on the back of his hand.

Maedhros spat over the side of the bed, then wiped off his mouth. He felt lightheaded. “Come here,” Fingon said, as if Maedhros had actually moved away.

“We likely have little time left before Celegorm returns,” Maedhros replied.

“Surely he knows?” Fingon held out one arm so Maedhros could lie at his side.

“There is a difference between knowing inwardly and seeing outwardly that your brother spent all evening with your cousin.” 

“Does this mean you won’t let me climb in through the window?”

Maedhros smiled. When Fingon covered Maedhros’s right hand with his own, Maedhros said, “You can take it back to Hithlum with you. Celebrimbor is already planning on making a new one—perhaps I’ll even be able to braid your hair.”

“You tried that once when I was a child, and it looked terrible. Maglor had to fix it.”

“You fidgeted.”

“Only because you were so tall and handsome it made me nervous.”

After the initial trauma faded, Maedhros’s deformity had ceased to repulse him. Looking down at where the metal prosthesis met Fingon’s skin, Maedhros was reminded of why he still lived. Maedhros’s thought was too direct; he could only ever see one way through a problem. But Fingon saw paths Maedhros was blind to, and if he had ever faltered, he must have kept it a secret. His brothers’ worst suspicion of him, that Maedhros had surrendered his claim not to Fingolfin, but for Fingon, was true. As long as Fingon was there, Maedhros had hope for the Noldor, and even for himself.

The sound of Celegorm’s wolfhound walking down the hallway meant their time alone was over. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious as to what Maedhros's prosthetic hand may have looked like, I did a reference post on my tumblr [here](http://sathinfection.tumblr.com/post/116336317518/maedhros-and-prosthetics-a-brief-resource-post). Update: the amazingly talented Nisie has illustrated this fic [here](http://nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/118908263677/fingon-x-maedhros-a-bit-of-prosthetic-porn-adapted) at her Tumblr!


End file.
